Morning Mist
by Arazadia
Summary: Movie-inspired. Eowyn resists Grima. Suggestions appreciated!!
1. Shieldmaiden

The horses pounded across the verdant hills of Rohan, bearing their riders rapidly away. Soon, they were only dark indistinguishable shapes to the anxious woman who watched them from the castle's casement. Her regal posture dropped imperceptibly as she finally lost sight of them altogether.   
  
This was a woman's lot, Eowyn thought bitterly and not for the first time. Her cousin and brother served their people in a way she could never hope to do. What were arranging celebrations and attending the king compared to glorious battle? With a wistful sigh she turned from the window and walked down the spiral stone staircase.   
  
The silence of the stairway soon gave way to the clamor of the dinning hall. The giant stone fireplace crackled and the remaining men of Rohan were seated around the heavy wooden table, busily eating and discussing the day's events. Eowyn strode across the room and took her place next to her uncle at the main table. She nodded to him respectfully, and shook her heavy skirts out around her. A servant suddenly appeared and placed her meal and drink before her. Only a few bites into her meal she paused, feeling someone's eyes on her. Looking up, she caught the gaze of Grima, seated on the other side of the king. Taking her glance as an invitation he hurriedly stood and, before she could protest, took the empty seat next to her.  
  
"You are mysterious, my lady. We have not seen you all day." He said, the last sentence an implied question. His dark eyes gazed at her face intently, as if the secrets of her soul would be revealed on its pale surface.   
  
Eowyn's hands tightened convulsively into fists beneath the table. He was always thus, watching, inquiring, assessing. "I am sure my days would hold little interest for you." She answered him coolly before reaching to take a sip from her wine goblet.   
  
Grima continued to study her lovely visage, drinking in the icy beauty of her features. "There you are quite wrong, my lady" He murmured softly, so only she could hear it.   
  
She gazed back at him uneasily, her bright eyes meeting his before breaking away uncomfortably to look at the roaring fire. Eowyn cursed herself silently, no matter how confident and poised she was with everyone else it made no difference. There was some emotion in those unfathomable dark eyes of his, in the intent way he watched her, that always left her unable to respond to him with her normal cool reserve. She rose abruptly to her feet, her chair scrapping against the stone of the floor.  
  
"I beg you would excuse me, I find my appetite is quite gone." Without waiting for his reply, Eowyn strode out of the hall. Grima silently watched her leave, noticing how her golden hair shone in the wild light of the torches. After she disappeared around the corner he sat for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he slowly reached over for her wine goblet and brought it to his mouth, making sure his own lips touched the cool glass in the same spot hers had. Grima shut his eyes reflexively as he drank from her glass, enjoying this cold, distant kiss.  
  
"Oh, Eowyn..." He whispered in a tone somehow both a plea and a promise. 


	2. A Memory

Lying on her bed, Eowyn willed recalcitrant sleep to come. She forced her body to relax and tried to clear her mind. Unbidden, a memory from long ago came to her, as clear as if it had occurred that very day.   
It was the afternoon of her seventeenth birthday. She sat at her favored position next to the king, smiling proudly as he toasted her. One by one she graciously accepted the gifts bestowed on her. Theodred presented her with an ornate golden comb covered in elaborate floral designs. She smiled politely but wondered at how little her cousin knew her. Most of the warriors' gifts to her were in a similar vein, jewelry, mirrors, perfumes, poems written to her beauty. Eomer's gift was slightly more to her tastes, a book filled with legends from the early days of their people. After the gift giving was over, Eowyn opened her mouth to give her thanks when a cold hand on her shoulder stilled the words in her throat.  
  
"A moment, my lady. You have one final gift." Grima said, a faint trace of amusement in his dark eyes as he surveyed the unsuitable presents clustered around her. He reached behind his back and placed a long object, covered in coarse brown wool, in front of her.  
  
She blinked at the gift, uncertain of how to respond. Grima always discomposed her for reasons she could never seem to clearly define. All at once, her eyes opened wide in wonderment as she recognized the shape before her. Her long fingers eagerly tore off the covering to reveal a magnificent sword. The light glittered off of its smooth, expertly wrought silver surface and danced across Eowyn's delighted face. She turned to Grima, a brilliant smile illuminating her usually coolly patrician features.   
  
"I do not know how to thank you!" She exclaimed excitedly, her delicate fingers curving eagerly over its golden handle. "It is so beautiful... I...." She searched about for the right words.  
  
"I am pleased you like it, my lady. An elven princess once owned it, and, legend has, used it well in the defense of her people." He paused for a moment, watching the graceful way she handled the sword. "It suits you." With that he bowed quickly, and left the circle of friends surrounding her.   
  
A faint uneasiness slowly stole over Eowyn as she considered his gift. Long after the others left her, she still sat, gazing down at the sword in her hand. It was at the moment when she first understood her fear of Grima. It was not his ugliness that disturbed her; she cared little for physical beauty. Nor was it his strange manners. It was, she knew now with absolutely certainty, because he knew her, understood her better even than her beloved brother. She let the sword fall from her grasp, flinching at the loud thud as it hit the stone ground. Without another glance she hurriedly left the room.  
  
Eowyn stirred uneasily as the memory faded once more. Little had changed in the proceeding years; Grima's watchful eyes still haunted her every step. She could not decide which frightened her more, the desire she saw in their shadowy depths or the quiet understanding. 


	3. Moonfall

Third chapter... and I tried to make it longer just for you, Sythrona! :) And no, Vereena, I didn't get the Freudian connection but it is hysterical! And highly appropriate!  
  
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Eowyn woke with a start, reaching instinctively for her small dagger to ward off the unspeakable horrors of her dream. A tense moment passed before she realized where she was, in her own chamber, sitting in her wildly disarrayed bed. She put a hand to her pounding heart and forced herself to calm down. The room was cloaked in darkness except for a thin, hesitant ray of moonlight peeking in through the heavy velvet curtains. Decisively, Eowyn rose from the bed, untangling her legs in the white sheets and hurried to the carved wooden door. She opened it, and walked quickly down the dark hallway, marveling at the utter silence of the night.   
  
Only the soft padding of her bare feet on stone was audible as she made her way outside. Reaching to push open the heavy wooden door, she noticed her hand was still trembling slightly from the aftermath of the dream and frowned. Willing it still, she opened the door and was greeted with the fresh, cold air of the night.  
  
Breathing it in deeply, Eowyn made her way farther out, enjoying the silence and fresh smell of pine. She realized suddenly how long it had been since she had been alone like this. Tilting her head up toward the sky, she smiled softly as the cool wind caressed her face and gently played with the strands of her hair. Her body relaxed suddenly, the terrible dream fading, at least temporarily, into the recesses of her mind.  
  
She did not know how long she stood thus, her eyes closed, lost in the enjoyment of the still night. If he made any noise as he approached her, Eowyn was quite unaware of it.   
  
"Good evening, my lady." A familiar voice uttered, its tone slightly raspy.   
  
She jumped and whirled to the sound, pushing the wayward locks of hair out of her eyes. "You," She almost hissed, "What are you doing here?" Her voice and flashing eyes clearly expressed her unspoken distaste.  
  
"I did not expect to find anyone here, my lady." Grima answered, "I often come here at night. The more interesting question, if I may inquire, is what brings your ladyship here?"   
  
By the dim light of the moon, Eowyn saw his eyes slowly survey her, no doubt noticing her bare feet and thin chemise. When his gaze finally returned to her face she fancied she saw amusement as well as a more powerful emotion lurking there. She stiffened at both his look and his question and turned resolutely away from him, staring out toward the dark mountainous landscape.  
  
He smiled a strange little half-smile at her back before taking a step closer. "Was it perhaps a dream that drove my lady out alone so late at night?"  
  
Eowyn breathed in sharply at this, her slim fingers toying with the delicate ring on her right hand. She continued to look out at the countryside, giving no other sign she had taken any notice of his words. Grima's eyes roved over her back and then he took another step closer to her.  
  
"Perhaps you could confide in me. Imagined fears soon disappear if they are shared." He leaned forward slightly so he could just catch a glimpse of her delicate profile. It seemed as cold, calm, and unapproachable as the moon itself that now shone down on them. But he knew better.   
  
"Something has clearly upset you. Can you not tell me of it, Lady Eowyn?" His voice coaxed her gently, her name on his lips sounded like a prayer, something too delicate and cherished for everyday use.   
  
Resentment flared within her at his constant questioning and obvious ability to read her so completely, but mostly at the temptation she suddenly felt to actually talk to him of her nightmare. The need to tell her dream weighed heavily on her; she turned to him quickly, opening her mouth to explain the terror of it. Seeing his dark watchful eyes brought her back to herself with a thud. She pressed her lips firmly together in a mutinous line and shook her head tightly.  
  
"I must return inside." She stated firmly, her chin tilted upwards slightly as if in defiance.   
  
He looked at her inquiringly.  
  
"I am cold." Eowyn added, a faint trace of despair creeping into her stern voice. She turned on her heel sharply and departed.  
  
"Cold." Grima mused after she had disappeared. "Cold." He repeated bitterly, his jaw tightening. "We must find a way to warm you, Lady Eowyn." 


	4. Ill Tidings

Just added a bit more to chapter four. Sorry if anything doesn't make sense, I'm going on 4 hours of sleep!   
  
Rose Cotton - Thanks for your suggestions. I have to fight against my playwright tendancies that just want to cut to the chase and get to the dialogue! But I'll try to add more mood and length with the next chapters. I can't believe I made a mistake with elven after having just finished re-reading the trilogy. Gah! I'm sure JRR wouldn't approve. Thanks for pointing it out.   
  
Veerena - I'm blushing! And wow, that picture is so cool!! I love it! I am completely technology-impaired, how did you do it?? If only it really were in the movie!   
  
Anarya - It's more complicated than that, she's repulsed by him but also understands that he knows her better than anyone.   
  
And thanks Vema, care bear the cheerleader (interesting name!), Ty, and as always Sythrona for your feedback.   
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Éowyn successfully defended herself from her brother's blow, laughing delightedly as she did so.   
  
Éomer shook his head, a wry grin on his fair face. "You certainly have the makings of a shieldmaiden, little sister."   
  
She smiled fondly at him and his compliment, before fiercely thrusting her wood sword at his shoulder. He parried her shot, but just barely.   
  
They continued their mock battle in the garden, enjoying the warm sunshine and each other's company. Laughter and the sounds of their swords knocking together filled the air.   
  
Éowyn, her face flushed and eyes bright from the exercise, bore little resemblance to the haunted girl of weeks earlier. Like mist fading in the hot light of day, the nightmare and the strange encounter with Gríma had disappeared completely in her joy at her brother and cousin's return.   
  
The siblings' battle continued on until Éomer called her off with a shout of laugh. "Enough! You are too much for me. What are orcs compared to this hellion sister of mine?" Good humor filled his face and eyes as he beamed down at her.  
  
"You shower me with compliments, my lord." She smiled, still breathing deeply. With a laugh, his sister bid him farewell and ran to the doors.   
  
Éowyn burst into the hallway leading to her chamber like a ray of fresh sunshine, lighting the dim passage. She didn't notice the dark shape in front of her until she collided with it. Nearly tripping from the impact, she was saved from falling by a pale hand that darted out from the darkness and caught her arm.   
  
When she had regained her balance, Éowyn looked up and saw the watchful eyes of Gríma on her. For once, it was not distaste or discomfort that filled her but surprise. She realized suddenly she hadn't seen him since the night of her nightmare, weeks ago. His absence had gone unnoticed; her brother and cousin's arrival had blotted out any memory of him or their last encounter.   
  
"Where could he have been?" Éowyn wondered silently before abruptly becoming aware that he was still gripping her forearm. She looked at the offending hand pointedly and watched, mesmerized, as the long, delicate fingers slowly retracted and disappeared gracefully into the shadows of his cloak.  
  
They regarded each other silently for a long moment. Éowyn starred back, determined to appear calm and unruffled. She was all too aware of her appearance. Her face flushed with exercise, her sleeves rolled up, and her long skirts partially raised and tied to her belt in order to free her legs.   
  
"Why must I always meet him at such moments?" She thought angrily, wishing she were dressed more appropriately. Éowyn was suddenly conscious of a bead of sweat at her temple and brushed it away impatiently, shifting her eyes from his intent gaze as she did so. Forcing herself to look back again, she noticed his eyes were now fixed on that spot on her brow.  
  
She arched an eyebrow, rolling down her sleeves to an acceptable length and releasing the folds at her waist so they fell heavily down to the floor. As she studied Gríma in the weak light of the hallway she realized he looked different somehow, as if, she mused, he was newly freed from some important matter that had long weighed on him. He held his head higher and had an air of authority about him not unlike her uncle, Éowyn decided, still surveying him silently. She chided herself for the thought, surely Gríma bore no resemblence to the commanding Théoden.  
  
Realizing she was not going to speak, Gríma took a small step backwards and offered her a surprisingly courtly bow. "My lady, I have come here to find you. The king has been asking for you."  
  
She frowned at this, a small line of consternation appearing on her brow. "But why? It is not his usual custom for my uncle to summon me thus."  
  
Gríma watched her wordlessly for a moment and she fancied she saw something slightly ominous steal across his usually mask-like face. "Your uncle is very ill, my lady." He said in a surprisingly gentle voice.  
  
"Ill?" She breathed, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. "What do you mean? He is perfectly fine, I would have noticed if my uncle wa-"  
  
"Would you have?" Gríma cut her off sharply, taking her aback with the angry edge in his voice. "Truly? You have been most preoccupied of late." He added with a meaningful glance at the small casement that looked out onto the gardens where Éomer and she had been fighting moments ago.   
  
"But… I…" She trailed off uneasily, her heart heavy with worry and guilt at her neglect. Éowyn gave up stumbling about for the words and looked at Gríma searchingly.  
  
He seemed to understand the expression. "I shall take you to him." Gríma said soothingly, pulling her arm gently through his. She didn't notice the faintly proprietorial gesture or the way his dull eyes seemed to suddenly have a new light shining out of their shadowy depths. He led her to the king's chambers, frowning as she broke away from him with a cry and ran to kneel by her uncle who lay prostrate on his bed.   
  
Taking Théoden's coarse, weathered hand in her own smooth one, Éowyn pressed it to her cheek, her eyes large and filled with concern. Théoden turned his head slowly from his pillow and looked down at his young niece, kneeling distraught before him. A long moment passed before he seemed to recognize her.  
  
"Éowyn." He whispered softly in a faltering voice, placing his other hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry, sister-daughter, I am well. I shall be my old self presently."   
  
She nodded fiercely, "I know you will be, my lord." Éowyn responded, forcing a confidence into her voice that she did not feel. "I am sure of it."  
  
The king smiled down at her gently, and seemed about to speak when his eyes suddenly grew heavy. A moment later, he was fast asleep. Éowyn continued to kneel at his side, willing the tears away. His labored breathing was the only sound in the still room. Finally, she pressed a gentle kiss on his rough hand and rose slowly to her feet.   
  
Gríma still stood in the shadows of the doorway, watching the scene with a strangely detached air. He noticed the unshed tears shining in her eyes, softening their usual gray steeliness. He understood the will that kept them from running down her pale face. Opening his mouth slowly, Gríma took a step closer to the grieving woman, ready to offer comfort and consolation.   
  
"I must find my brother, he will want to be the one to tell Théodred." She murmured more to herself than Gríma and hurriedly brushed past him into the hallway. Éowyn paused for a moment, and turned quickly. "Thank you for telling me of my uncle's condition." Without giving him a chance to respond, she swiftly departed.  
  
Gríma watched her depart, her long cream-colored skirts disappearing into the darkness. Then, turning to the ailing king, he began to plan, his eyes growing as dark as the thoughts that flittered through his mind. 


	5. Melting Ice

Okay, sorry it's been awhile since my last update, I've been mad busy. I'm planning on doing another draft of this chapter but I wanted to update so just went ahead. Don't be shocked it there are grammar/continuity/character flaws! Now that you've been warned…. enjoy! :)  
  
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The next weeks passed achingly slow for Éowyn. Théoden's health improved slightly due to her constant administrations, but in body and in mind he was still a mere shadow of his former self. Messages of ferocious orc attacks on the western boarder soon called Éomer and Théodred away. Determined to at last do her duty to protect Rohan and its king, Éowyn alone tended to her uncle with grim resolve.   
  
The hours passed slowly as she sat wearily beside her uncle's throne, her back aching from the strain. All the activities she had previously enjoyed were subsumed under this new duty; Éowyn barely was left time to dress as her messy hair and only half-tied bodice testified. She spent hours trying to clear the fog that clouded his mind and dulled his formally sparkling blue eyes. Despite her efforts, the king's vigor seemed more and more unlikely to return no matter how many long hours she passed thusly at his side, kneeling by his throne, coaxing him to speak to her and tend to the affairs of state.   
  
As she sat there, for the countless day in a row, Éowyn began to become slowly aware of another, shameful, darker emotion growing alongside her concern for her uncle's health. Slowly but insidiously it grew, feeding off the long, frustrating hours she passed in the dim hall. Éowyn could endure pain, fear, and toil but this new feeling disgraced her-- resentment towards the very people she most loved. Her anger and the shame in feeling it, fought a heated battle in her heart that belied the calm, caring manner with which she served the king. Her days began to have a pattern to them, tending tirelessly to the king by day and sleeping fitfully at night, her dreams filled with terrifying images of suffering.  
  
This day had been excruciating and her silent anger at the king's obtuseness increased as she tried to convince him to send more troops to aid Théodred and Éomer. All the response she received was absent murmurings about minding her own place. Worry for her brother, cousin, and the other riders joined the myriad battling emotions within her.  
  
"Just one moment alone," She thought desperately, looking despairingly at her uncle's slumped form. "That is all I need. One minute with only my own thoughts, not his demands. I must keep this feeling at bay. "  
  
Éowyn retreated to an unused chamber, determined that no one should find her. Stepping into the room, she walked over to the open window and looked out longingly to the mountains. If only she were fighting enemies rather than this shameful feeling that seemed to grow in power hourly.   
  
Then, slowly, she sunk to the floor, her back against the rough stone wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. Éowyn clasped her chilled hands around her legs, resting her head to one side.  
  
The sound of the door creaking open did not come as a surprise at all. She did not have the energy to react, merely looked over to the noise with tired eyes.   
  
Gríma stood in the doorway, considering her for a long moment, without a word of greeting. Then, as if he had reached a decision, he crossed the room quickly and crouched down only a few inches from her.   
  
"It's the same anger, is it not?" He queried abruptly, as she looked back at him mutely. "Only deeper now, yes, much deeper. The lovely songbird has been securely thrusted into her gilded cage once again and expected to sing as prettily as if she were free. You have been left behind again, haven't you? Left behind like a child to slavishly tend to an invalid who barely recognizes you."  
  
Her body stiffened, as her eyes were drawn to his inexorably. She looked at him as if he were a snake, ready to strike out at any moment, and no action of hers could prevent it.  
  
He smiled affectionately and reached over to her blonde head, smoothing the golden strands comfortingly. "They teach you fighting to amuse themselves, not for any other purpose. If they have their wish, your whole life will be lived within these stony confines. Never to venture outside the borders of Rohan. Denied the freedom even a drab wren is afforded." Each word was carefully annunciated; he spoke slowly, weaving a spell of words about her.  
  
Her lids grew heavy suddenly and the tension poured out of her body as she continued to listen to his mesmerizing voice. She could barely summon enough strength to hold up her head.  
  
"Father, mother, uncle, cousin, brother." Gríma murmured softly, almost chanting the terrible list. "They have all abandoned you, each in their turn."  
  
Tears began to stream silently down her impassive face, like rain falling down hard white marble. Their heat warmed her face and tasted salty as they landed on her parted lips. They were tears of grief and shame, and could not be checked despite her noblest efforts.  
  
"But I am here. I have always been here. I care for you more than your relations could begin to encompass. I would see you free, flying proudly above the everyday confines that plague lesser beings. Secure in the knowledge that you would always return to my arm." He watched as her emotionless veneer began to melt away, beneath the onslaught of his carefully crafted words.   
  
"It is such a heavy burden to carry all alone." He whispered into her ear, his eyes boring into hers.   
  
Éowyn began to weep in earnest, great racking sobs that shook her narrow frame. She reached out blindly, like a drowning woman grasping at life, her eyes blurred with tears. His arms fastened securely around her, pulling her into his protective darkness. Gríma stroked her hair as she cried against his chest. These were not the artful, pretty tears of an upset child but the anguished sobbing of a tormented soul. She shook so fiercely within the shielding circle of his arms that he looked down at her in mild surprise.  
  
Her loosely tied bodice had slipped slightly, exposing one flawless shoulder. He slowly allowed his fingers to skim along the cool flesh and caress the strong column of her long neck. So cold, so smooth, so flawless, as if she really were carved of marble. But this was no icy, untouchable statue he held. A tiny smile curved his lips as he continued to lightly caress her neck, imaging the future ahead for the two of them. Gríma gazed down at her, euphoric at the thousand happy images that crowded his mind.  
  
A trumpet blast in the distance broke the spell. Éowyn's head shot up and she brusquely wrenched herself out of his arms and run over to the casement. Leaning out, she shielded her eyes, blinking at the light, and peered off into the distance.   
  
He gazed at her form silently, his hands flexing vacantly at his sides, as if longing for the prize that had been within their grasp. Thoughts wheeled behind his mind in a wild kaleidoscope of options.   
  
Éowyn's narrowed, peering eyes widened as she saw a familiar banner. "Éomer… Théodred." She stated, her voice filled with disbelief and tentative joy. "They have returned!" 


End file.
